by Anne Morice
“Why do you suppose Eddie misquoted Vera so outrageously?” I asked, hoping to fan this flame, if it did exist, into a bigger blaze. “You both heard her going on about what a state poor Hattie was in and how it came as no surprise that she had decided to end it all. Yet Eddie flatly contradicted that when he was reporting to the Sergeant and insisted that neither of them had noticed the slightest thing wrong.”
“Either because he guessed there was no truth in the version she gave us,” Robin answered, “and that she was simply showing off, or else . . .”
“What?”
“Or else he was afraid she would repeat the act, to impress Dexter, who might take it seriously and feel it necessary to call her as a witness at the inquest. Eddie would have wished to avoid that at all costs and I dare say Vera was also beginning to get cold feet by then and had settled for another migraine and for letting Eddie do the talking.”
“Yes, I should say that’s the most likely explanation. I have a feeling there is nothing very spontaneous about these outbursts of Vera’s. I believe that nearly everything she does is calculated, but the trouble is that it’s usually done so clumsily that she has to get Eddie to rush in and smooth things over for her.”
“I’m not quite with you,” Robin said.
“And, if I were you, I’d stay right where you are,” Toby advised him. “I scent trouble when she heads off into these marital relationship jungles.”
“To give you just one example,” I persisted. “When Vera learnt that Hattie was dead, her immediate reaction was to try and convince everyone that it was suicide. It was only later on, when the damage had been done, that she realised how much more discreet it would have been to sit tight and say nothing. In that way, no one would ever have felt the need to seek a connection.”
“A connection between what, for God’s sake?”
“Why, Hattie and Vera, of course. What else have we been talking about?”
“On rather different levels though, if you’ll forgive my saying so. This is the first I’ve heard of any connection between them.”
“I gave you my advice,” Toby reminded him, “and you would have done well to listen to it. When it pleases Tessa to have a connection she will find one, and if it does not exist she will invent it.”
“I am not inventing anything this time,” I told him. “The signs are all there for those with eyes to see.”
“Then I must be blind,” Robin said, “for I was under the impression that Vera had never set foot in Waterside before and had scarcely clapped eyes on Hattie until they had their little chat at the exhibition, which you are the first to admit was largely a fiction, anyway.”
“I admit all that,” I agreed, adding, after a suitable pause for effect. “But on the other hand, I am pretty sure that Hattie knew Vera or, rather, knew a great deal more about her than Vera could have dreamed of, far less desired, and that Vera discovered this yesterday afternoon.”
“And what is the basis for this melodramatic theory?”
“Visual evidence, as it happens. It still exists, but unfortunately I can’t show it to you just at present, so you’ll have to take my word for it. You see, when Sergeant Dexter handed me Hattie’s caricature just now, he only gave enough time to identify it, before snatching it back again, but you know how it is with pictures? If they have any merit at all, something invariably strikes you at a second viewing which you missed the first time and that’s how it was with this one. I looked only at the head at the top of the drawing, which was Vera’s of course, and straightaway I noticed something distinctly odd and suggestive about it.”
At this point, I paused once again, to give proper gravity and emphasis to my next words and immediately had cause to regret it. In the small silence, while Robin and Toby regarded me with appropriate degrees of curiosity and scepticism, we heard a key turning in the lock, followed by a voice calling:
“Anyone at home? If so, you can put a hot-water bottle in my bed and fetch the Valium.”
TWELVE
(1)
“You never saw such a carry-on in your life,” Tina told us, when she had been revived by a stiff dose from the whisky bottle which Robin had thoughtfully brought along. “It was supposed to be a staff meeting, to put us in the picture about Hattie, but it developed into a ruddy brawl. They did everything except throw the furniture about.”
“Do tell us!” I begged her.
“Well, it was all set off by a stupid little misunderstanding. Madam mentioned something about Constance, meaning Hattie, of course; but you know how she persists in waging this private war against the Waterside nicknames? Anyway, Connie Bland, who was already in a state of controlled dither about this blot on the escutcheon, chose to take it as a reference to herself and she fairly let fly. Told Madam she could mind her own business and remember who she was talking to and various other cutting remarks on those lines. It was frightfully embarrassing, but I suppose it proves that we were right, Tessa. Connie has known all along about Billy and Madam, only it suited her to close her eyes to it. All the same, she must have been seething with jealous fury underneath, and bottling it up hasn’t improved her temper. So now, when she feels that she and her beloved school are under threat from all sides, one more pinprick is enough to send her berserk.”
“So then what happened?” I asked.
“Things went from bad to worse. Instead of explaining her mistake and patching things up, Madam launched into a slanging match on her own account. She accused Connie of being a tyrant and a megalomaniac, among other things, and she also got in a dig about her extravagance and how we were all obliged to sit meekly by and wait for the crash. Perfectly true, of course, but hardly the moment to bring that up.”
“And hardly relevant to the subject you were supposed to be discussing?” Robin suggested.
“Quite. She did allude to Hattie at one point, although unfortunately she managed to imply that that was Connie’s fault too. If she hadn’t spoilt her rotten and so on and so forth, this disaster could have been averted. She never had any time for Hattie herself, so she was getting in a double blow there. I simply can’t imagine what got into her. Of course, I realise that she’s been under enormous strain too, but it really was unforgivable and she even tried to rope poor old Patsy in to back her up, which was a bit mean. Whatever Patsy may mutter in private, it would be more than her life was worth to criticise Connie openly.”
“How did she get out of it?”
“Rather cleverly really, although it probably wasn’t calculated. She started to cry, which is exactly what most of the girls do when they’ve been caught out and tears are the only defence left. Still, I dare say these were genuine tears. The whole rotten business was enough to make anyone weep.”
“So there’s the picture,” I said, “Connie and Madam hurling insults at each other like a couple of fishwives, Patsy sobbing quietly in her corner, while the rest of you sit around biting your nails. I can’t quite place Billy, though. Presumably, he was there, being a partner in the firm, so to speak? He must have found himself in a rather ticklish situation?”
“Probably did, but you know Billy. He usually manages to slide out when things start hotting up and this time his escape route was practically handed to him on a plate with watercress round it. At one point Connie was temporarily overcome by a choking fit. I expect it was pure rage, as a matter of fact, because she soon recovered, but it was slightly alarming while it lasted and Billy was on his feet in a trice, saying he’d fetch her a glass of water. I need hardly say that he was able to spin out that little task for at least ten minutes. The worst was over by the time he got back and things had simmered down a bit.”
“Yes, typical Billy manoeuvre,” I agreed. “But has anything emerged from this meeting? Did the subject of sudden death and sodium nitrate ever get an airing?”
“It was touched on towards the end, but only in a general way. We were told that the inquest was to be on Wednesday and, acting on instructions, Pauline had sent teleg
rams to all the parents, informing them that owing to unforeseen circumstances, term will end ten days early and all the girls who can’t be collected personally will be on the nine-forty to Paddington on Wednesday morning.”
“How many telegrams would that have required?” Toby asked her.
“Eighty, at least, and that must have cost a bomb or two.”
“It’s a wonder your old Madam didn’t ask whether a second-class stamp wouldn’t do just as well,” I remarked, “but I begin to feel sorry for Connie, I really do. Not that she’d care a damn about the expense, but it must have been a terrible blow to her pride to admit that something could go so terribly wrong at wonderful Waterside.”
“She hadn’t much alternative. Hattie’s father is already on his way from South America and, with the inquest and everything, there wouldn’t be a hope of hushing it up. Things would have got completely out of hand with all the girls on the premises, gossiping and goggle-eyed and their mothers ringing up every ten minutes to enquire if they were still alive. Now, with an extra-long summer holiday ahead, there’ll be time for the sting to go out of it and I doubt if many of them will actually remove their little darlings.”
I could only hope she was right, although I had a nasty suspicion that sooner or later we should be in for a much bigger and more damaging scandal than any that had so far occurred to her. I said:
“Yes, I am sure it was the only way out and you can’t accuse her of doing things by halves. In fact, you could say that the whole ghastly business has brought out all the old fighting spirit. Even her health seems to have bucked up.”
“Oh no, it hasn’t,” Tina said with one of her mirthless snorts. “You haven’t heard the curtain line yet.”
We all waited for her to give it to us, one at least with bated breath.
“You remember that black-out Connie had at your luncheon party, Tessa? Well, from the way you described it, I should say that exactly the same thing happened this evening. She was talking quite normally, we’d moved on to the business of getting all the heavy luggage down to the station in advance, and then all at once her voice went slurry. She tailed off completely and collapsed in a heap on the table.”
“Yes, that’s exactly how it was before. But how awful, Tina! Did she pull out of it?”
“Couldn’t tell you. Billy bundled us all out of the room; all except Patsy, that is, and Madam also seemed inclined to linger, but there was nothing the rest of us could do, so I got in the car and drove home; and that’s the latest news I have.”
This reference to getting into cars and driving to places reminded two of the party that there was a train to be caught and I went downstairs to see them off. On the way Robin said in a voice brimming with insincerity:
“Bad luck, Tessa! You never got your punch line in, after all, did you? I’m afraid the old school chum rather stole your big scene.”
“It can wait,” I replied. “And it may have been just as well. One is apt to become carried away with such a good audience and there’s still a remote possibility that I’m mistaken. I shall have to get my hands on a dictionary before I can be certain, and in the meantime. . . .”
“And in the meantime, it might be as well not to go plunging in up to your neck before you’ve got your facts straight.”
“Yes, okay, and while I’m not doing that, there’s something you can be doing for me.”
Perhaps he felt he had rather overdone the bossy, patronising bit, for he said amiably:
“Yes, if I can.”
“Two things really, and by pressing the right buttons they will only take you a couple of ticks. The first is to find out whether Vera possesses, or has even possessed, a driving licence.”
“And the second?”
“That’s easier still. I’d like to know where an Ambassador called McGrath, now in South America, was posted before that.”
(2)
“Tell me something, Teeny,” I said, on re-entering the flat a moment or two later. “When Billy Boy eventually brought Connie’s glass of water, was it really water, or something else?”
“What do you mean by something else?” she demanded, giving me the Cyclops look.
“Oh well, you know, it could have been brandy or something and that’s why it took him so long?”
This was not really what I had in mind, but I thought a half-truth would be less likely to arouse her fury than the whole one. I was wrong though because the fierceness of her reaction was out of all proportion to the question which, on the face of it, I had considered to be harmless enough.
“Oh, I see what you’re getting at,” she replied in a disgusted voice. “And I know who you’ve been talking to.”
“Do you? Who?”
“Patsy; so don’t bother to deny it. She’s the only one who could have put that idea into your head.”
“The idea that Billy might have given his wife something slightly more stimulating than water, when she’d just had a choking fit and was battling through a crisis? What’s so terrible about that?”
“Oh, don’t go all babyfaced and innocent, it’s not your style. You know very well it’s not as simple as that and I must say I’m disappointed.”
“May we take this one step at a time?” I asked, for I genuinely had no idea what she was talking about. “First of all, what are you disappointed about?”
“Old Patsy blabbing to you.”
“About what?”
“Alcohol being at the root of Connie’s trouble, of course. I know that’s Patsy’s private theory, because she once mentioned it to me, but I never dreamt she’d go spreading it around to all and sundry.”
“Well, we seem to be getting somewhere at last,” I admitted. “Although I’m not sure I care for the direction we’re going in. For one thing, I don’t much like being bracketed with all and sundry and, for another, Patsy has never dropped so much as a hint of that kind. I trust I can make you believe that?”
“You’ll have to work pretty hard at it.”
“Oh, I don’t foresee much difficulty,” I assured her. “Just listen to this: supposing, for the sake of argument, that Patsy had done the thing you’ve accused her of and supposing also that I’d thought there was some truth in it, would I then have asked you whether Billy had brought along something stronger than water?”
“Yes, in my opinion, that’s exactly what you would have done.”
“Are you mad, Teeny? He’s a doctor, need I remind you? He’d know better and sooner than anyone if his wife were turning into an alcoholic. How could I imagine he would be so irresponsible as to run around fetching up more of the stuff and literally putting it into her hands?”
“Because, my dear Tessa, knowing you, it would be such a short step from there to assuming that he not only does know, but is actively encouraging her.”
A great light dawned and I said:
“Well, I’ll be blowed! Damned if I won’t!”
“Don’t pretend that wasn’t at the back of your mind when you played your little opening gambit.”
“Cross my heart. It’s a totally new concept, so far as I am concerned, but I see now that it’s firmly lodged at the back of yours, which is why you jumped on me like a load of bricks. However, that’s not why I’m blowed. Do you want the truth?”
“Go ahead, if it amuses you.”
“The sordid truth is that my reason for asking what Billy put in the glass was to check whether he had filled it with something which had a strong enough flavour to disguise something else.”
After a brief but menacing pause, in which Tina’s feet got to work, she said:
“Like sodium nitrate, for instance?”
“Exactly! Isn’t that amazing?”
“I don’t find it amazing. I call it a much more damaging accusation than the first one.”
“Well, of course it is and that’s the amazing part. Here have I been flogging myself into the ground over this complicated theory that Billy is using his expertise to poison his wife by slow degrees an
d in such a way as to make it look as though she had a heart complaint. So that when she did have a fatal attack, one of his partners would sign on the dotted line and no questions asked. Awfully risky of course, because she could have taken it into her head at any moment to consult a specialist and then Billy really would have been up the spout. Another snag was that poisoning doesn’t really match his temperament. There’s a long-drawn-out cruelty about it, which is the last thing one associates with him. And now I learn that all the while you’ve had this perfectly logical, straightforward solution up your sleeve, or inside your dancing shoes, which also explains Connie’s reluctance to see another doctor. She would know only too well what was the matter with her and where the cure lay. That’s what amazes me. That you should have seen all this and that I could have been so blind.”
“I’ll thank you to leave me out of your little games, if you don’t mind, Tessa. Patsy may have hinted to me that Connie was tipping back the bottle rather too frequently, and I may or may not agree with her. That’s entirely my own affair, so kindly don’t associate me with this new fantasy you’re now building up. Maybe Connie is turning into an alcoholic, but no one has ever suggested that Billy was aiding and abetting her and I think you ought to apologise for such a foul and disgusting insinuation.”
Having lectured me in this haughty fashion, she slammed off into the kitchen, where I heard her opening and shutting drawers in a rather frenzied fashion. I got up and prowled around her elegant little sitting room for a few minutes, before joining her. She was peering into a knife drawer and, without looking up, she said:
“Honestly, Tessa, you make me so furious I can’t even remember what I came in here to look for. Have you come to apologise?”
